


The Most Human Color - Supplemental

by verbosins



Series: The Most Human Color [2]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Depression, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hot Mess, Hurt/Comfort, Isolation, Pacifist Route, Reader Has the Blue Soul, Reader Is Not Frisk, Reader Is a Fallen Human, Reader Was a Dancer, Reader as Integrity, Reader-Insert, Short, Social Anxiety, Sports Injury, Suicidal Thoughts, bad words, idfk, reader identifies as female, someone help me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-08
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2018-08-07 09:20:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7709557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verbosins/pseuds/verbosins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For those who would like Reader with a little more backstory. Not necessary for understanding the main story, but helpful in giving your history with monsters and your relationship with Sans some quick context. Don't read if you prefer coming up with your own backstory.</p><p> </p><p>Starts a little before your fall and continues until you face Asgore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Whirl, Ballerina

**Author's Note:**

> Here I am, showing my disgraceful face yet again, with additional reading that no one asked for ~~and no one will read~~.
> 
> Seriously, though, this shouldn't take too long to flesh out. It's only separate because I couldn't think of how to fit it into the flow of the main fic and wanted readers to have more freedom imagining their own backstories. 
> 
> I is have dumb brain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **TW** : depression, social anxiety/isolation, suicidal ideations

A lifetime ago, you were a dancer.

 

It was the whole reason you moved to Ebott Town in the first place. Mount Ebott School of Movement Arts was the most well-known dance academy in the state, and certainly one of the best in the country. You gave up your joyless job in your hometown and applied to a school hundreds of miles away, thinking of nothing but turning your passion for ballet into a career. You had your bags packed long before you got the acceptance letter.

 

But it wasn't the life-altering experience you'd desperately dreamed of. On second thought, it _was_ , just not in the way you'd hoped.

 

Even though many of the other students were also from out of town, you still felt like an outsider among them. They knew the area and each other but weren't interested in your company. Competition for roles in campus and local productions was fierce and merciless. You couldn't afford to live in the outrageously expensive dormitory and had to settle for a crappy efficiency apartment in downtown Ebott, which you struggled to pay for by working two crappy minimum-wage jobs. 

 

But you were determined to focus only on the joy of dancing; as long as you were dancing, nothing could bring you down from the high it gave you.

 

Then you sprained your ACL.

 

You weren't even doing anything strenuous. Just a routine ballet warm-up when you heard something pop. Felt something tear. Fell to the floor in a crying heap while the other students stood staring. 

 

The doctor classified it a Grade III sprain and told you that you couldn't dance for at least six months. That this injury was a long time coming – the MRI showed that years of stress on the joint had degraded it. That there was very little chance that you'd return to your former skill level. 

 

You immediately called the director of the show that you were supposed to be rehearsing for and endured his furious demands about where he was supposed to find a replacement on such short notice. Since there was no way for you to attend classes, you were going to be set back a semester and still had to pay for it. And in order to do that, you still had to earn money. You struggled to walk, struggled to work, struggled to be rehabilitated. It was a torturous few weeks. 

 

You know you shouldn't have done it, but a few days shy of five months later, you were back in class. You just couldn't help it. You needed to dance or you were going to go insane. It was a mistake. You knew it as soon as you put on your pointes and started moving. 

 

Once again, you were humiliated in front of your sneering classmates when your still-healing knee gave out and you crumpled against the ballet bar. Ignoring your screaming joint, you tearfully threw your gear into your duffel bag and stormed out of the room into the night. No one even offered to help you. 

 

Without dance, you had nothing. You were stuck in that shithole apartment, working those awful jobs, stranded in a city you hardly knew, and you would continue to be stuck forever.

 

That was when, running purely on emotion, you took the bus half an hour outside of town to the base of Mount Ebott. The bus was fittingly empty when you stepped off at sunset, the disinterested driver slamming the doors shut the moment your feet touched the ground at the start of the trail. Hefting your bag up the deserted path, you hardly felt the searing pain in your leg – adrenaline was clouding it and your head wonderfully. 

 

You'd heard the rumors about the mountain. Of course you had. It was common knowledge in that town that no one who climbed it ever came back. In your foggy mental state, you hoped it was true.

 

(You've always told everyone that you don't remember why you went up the mountain in the first place. That it was probably just morbid curiosity. But you've always gotten the feeling that, somehow, Sans doesn't believe you. And, as usual, he'd be right.)

 

You had no friends. Your family was a non-event. The future you'd worked so hard for was rendered dubious at best by your stupid fucking knee and your apparent inability to follow simple directions. 

 

There was no point in going on like that anymore.

 

At some point, deep in the woods where the sky was blazing orange with sunset, you ducked under a chain suspended between two dead trees with a rusted sign demanding that you **KEEP OUT**. 

 

The air was thin up there and it made breathing difficult, but you pressed on.

 

Anger, fear, hatred, despair, loneliness...they were all that was swirling through your mind as you suddenly found yourself, panting, dangerously close to the deathly silent precipice of some kind of enormous cavern. As always, you were utterly alone; not even animals dared to venture that close. 

 

The stars shone magnificently in the indigo sky and the wind groaned and the trees shuddered and they were the only things to witness your knee finally give out from the ruinous pain.

 

You saw a glimmer of gold far below you before you tumbled into the gaping maw of the mountain.


	2. I Don't Know Enough About You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You meet most of the main players and proceed to form an ill-advised crush.

When you cracked open an eye (hours? days?) later, everything hurt and you knew you weren't moving anytime soon. So you just lay, bloodied and broken, in a bed of unnaturally-colored flowers that might have successfully broken your fall if you were younger, smaller. 

 

The wind whistled over the cavern entrance a mile above you while you tried to stay awake and take stock of your injuries. More than just your knee was unusable now. 

 

That's when you noticed a beaming face looking down on you from one of the many surrounding plants. 

 

And talking. 

 

It introduced itself as Flowey in a squeaky, giggly voice. Its petals were a garish yellow hue compared to the gold of the blossoms surrounding it. You simply gaped, uncomprehending but certain your damaged brain was running wild with a pre-death hallucination. 

 

“Golly, you're hurt bad!” it said in the least concerned tone possible. “Here, let me help you. I have these nifty little, um. Healing pellets! That I can use on you! To make you feel better!”

 

You barely perceived a ring of spinning white objects (seeds?) materialize around you, somehow floating in midair. The flower's face looked thoughtful for a moment, but you were too close to unconsciousness and paralyzed by pain to do anything but continue to stare at it. Then the look turned ghastly. 

 

Its smile was suddenly too big for its tiny head, its eyes blacker than the pit that had recently swallowed you. It regarded your limp, immobile form like an easy meal, bobbing its yellow-petaled head this way and that with cruel amusement.

 

“Aw, what's the point in pretending??? You're gonna die anyway, _WHY DON'T I JUST HELP YOU ALONG_?” 

 

Sensing that Flowey's gleeful cackling and the fast approaching white objects were going to be the last things you saw and heard, you dropped your head to the dirt and just gave up. Not that you had any other option. This isn't how you'd wanted to go out, but oh well, goodbye cruel world.

 

But then everything stopped. With a surprised squawk, the flower and its “healing pellets” were gone.

 

You heard footsteps fast approaching. A comfortingly warm and rather large hand alighted gently on your back, but you didn't have the strength to lift your head and see who it belonged to.

 

“Oh, my goodness, you poor child. Your injuries are quite extensive.”

 

The voice was matronly and pleasant and you were relieved that it, instead of that horrible screeching plant, would be the final sound ushering you off into the afterlife. You were distantly puzzled at the presence of another human down here in this strange, sinister place, but couldn't explore the thought any further. 

 

The woman was still talking, but the only words you could make out were “heal you” before a wonderfully warm, tingly sensation washed over you. You were able to crane your neck just enough to see brilliant sparks of light dancing over your body, rushing to mend bones, repair ruptured organs, reconstruct mangled skin. You hadn't been cognizant enough to realize that one of your lungs had collapsed until you were greedily gasping in the damp cave air like a diver returning to the surface.

 

It was mere moments before your previously mortal wounds were gone. You put your weight shakily on your previously non-functioning knee, making to stand up. Those large hands were on you again, steadying you. You were supremely grateful to your brain for blocking out all the pain you would have otherwise felt from the impact long enough for this person to – holy shit that was not a person.

 

A towering white cow?...woman? helped you to your feet and fussed over you while you openly gaped in disbelief. Though she was a marked improvement over the severely creepy flower thing, she was still a creature of unidentifiable species. You were certain your brain was just fucking with you at that point. You had no choice but to follow the being, apparently named Toriel, when she began leaving the corridor through an elaborate, ancient archway. 

 

She was insisting that you accompany her to her cottage. Sure, the goat lady who was wearing a dress lived in a house under the mountain. Why not?

 

You walked beside her through some kind of cave system, marveling at the ease with which you were moving. Outwardly, you smiled and nodded politely as she spoke excitedly in her soothing voice, but your mind was a hive of frantic activity. 

 

You still weren't sure whether or not all of this was just your brain's way of mercifully lulling you into peace with a colorful fantasy. Maybe your body was actually just growing cold back in that patch of decidedly non-talking flowers. 

 

Real or not, this mysterious and vibrant new world was already much better than the depressing one you'd fallen from. The anguish you felt so strongly that you thought you might burst just a short while ago was forgotten in the face of your fascination.

 

Not all of the beasts you encountered down there were quite as friendly as Toriel, though.

 

She warned you pretty quickly that some monsters ( _she_ called them monsters so that must not be offensive) weren't accustomed to humans and would likely try to attack you with magic. Fucking. That's just great. You decided it was best not to let yourself think too hard about it when said monsters began launching projectiles (similar to the talking flower's) at you on sight. Instead, you focused solely on staying the hell away from them.

 

Thanks to Toriel, you were moving better than you had in half a year. Your dancer's instincts gave you a sizable advantage against the monsters' attacks. Though the uncharacteristic thought of how easy it would be to defeat those weak Whimsuns and Froggits passed over you a few times, you chose instead to evade (most of) the onslaught with graceful ease. Once you'd gotten the hang of their attack patterns, you even found yourself delighting in the lighthearted repartee that passed between you and the strange little creatures. It seemed to make Toriel pretty happy too. Why she couldn't just tell them not to try to hurt you, you didn't know, but whatever.

 

Your slog through what looked like the ruins of some kind of city ended at the cutest little house you'd ever seen. After a slice of the most delicious pie you'd ever tasted in the coziest living room you'd ever been in, you were surprised to see Toriel looking conflicted. The firelight danced in her lovely violet eyes as she confessed to you, leaning toward you over a steaming mug of tea.

 

“You are...a bit older than the fallen humans I normally find in the Underground. Were you still a child, I would be _very_ insistent that you remain here with me. The Underground is my home, and it is wonderful, but it is often too dangerous for young humans, as you have seen...and _not_ seen.”

 

The uncharacteristic darkness in her eyes as she said this disquieted you and you began to be a bit more worried than curious about what lay elsewhere under the mountain. You briefly pondered the possibility of establishing a new life here with the woman who saved your life – reading her books, exploring the Ruins, eating pie. Not a bad way to grow old.

 

“However, since you are an adult,” she continued, “I will not attempt to stop you, should you decide to leave the Ruins. In fact, I feel I must _insist_ that you go. I prefer to keep my home open for little ones, and I'm certain you have a life you wish to return to on the surface.” 

 

The curtness with which she spoke told you she was serious. So much for starting over here. You weren't so sure about wanting go back to the surface, but didn't think it proper to reveal your human struggles to sweet Toriel. Struggles that were now so blissfully far away. 

 

As she brought you to the edge of her domain, the monster woman's parting words were your introduction to a system you eventually came to know quite well: the Barrier and the five human Souls.

 

She warned you about someone named Asgore, who would undoubtedly soon be alerted to your presence, and who would stop at nothing to get what he needed from you – the power you apparently held within your own Soul. The power to free all monsters from this mountainous prison that humans had, according to Toriel, confined them to eons ago. 

 

Maybe your problems weren't over after all. Figures.

 

But, she added with a touch of hope in her voice, someone may be able to persuade him to cross the Barrier using only one of the Souls he had already collected, and to let the other Souls go free. She looked pointedly at you as she said this. 

 

You didn't understand one word of her exposition at the time, still a little hung up on the concept that there were, um, _fucking monsters_ under your city, but you were determined to see what happened anyway. Not like you had anything to lose.

 

As Toriel heaved the heavy wooden door out of the Ruins shut behind you with one last apologetic smile, the only thing you felt was excitement in spite of the weighty words she had just spoken. She'd given you one last shot of what you think was more healing magic right before you parted, and warned that it had a kind of boosting effect. You'd have a little more energy than usual, she said, but shouldn't overestimate your abilities. 

 

That's exactly what you did, however, when you sensed something following you in the deep, snowy woods that lay silently on the other side of the giant door. You still weren't quite convinced that any of this was real anyway.

 

You were feeling almost kind of drunk on the excellent and hitherto undervalued feeling of being alive and healthy and not exactly being discouraged by the boosting effects of Toriel's spell. So, you faced the potential threat with a completely logical response: you half-shouted, half-laughed, “Who's there??” when you heard footsteps in the snow immediately behind you. You whirled around to see a bipedal figure emerging from the trees, thick as night on either side of the makeshift path you were treading. 

 

As it came into the soft afternoon sunlight, you shielded your eyes from the light and saw something you were totally unprepared for. A...skeleton? In basketball shorts. And pink fuzzy slippers. Nope, yep, completely normal. Nothing should really have surprised you at that point, you realized. But the monsters in the Ruins had looked so delicate and gentle - why did this one have to be so goddamn terrifying? 

 

You immediately felt the ice-cold grip of reality and the strong sense that you shouldn't be here. This wasn't a fucking game and you had no real idea of what you were getting yourself into. You stood your ground and swallowed, your fearlessness escaping you. Your feet were dead weight in the snow. 

 

Toriel had fixed you up only for you to die two seconds later at the hands of the first creature you saw.

 

After regarding you intensely for a moment, seeming to focus on your hands for some reason, two little white lights appeared in the monster's inky black eyesockets. Its pupils, presumably. Its permanent grin somehow...shifted...from eerie to amused. Are skulls supposed to emote?

 

“buddy. pal. you can't go around stealing people's thunder like that. it just isn't polite.”

 

Its voice was casual, smooth and deep. Male?

 

“anyway. i'm sans. sans the skeleton,” he continued without waiting for your reply, coming forward and removing a bony hand from his pocket to shake yours. When you didn't take the proffered hand because you were busy staring at its owner, he waved it in front of your wide eyes. 

“sheesh. no manners taught where you're from, huh?”

 

You jumped and apologized, giving your name. He seemed satisfied, jamming his unshaken hand back into the pocket of his jacket to rejoin the other. _Good first impression_ , you chided yourself, but you didn't have long to wonder why you were worried about making one because you felt two weirdly warm hands suddenly behind you, pushing into your shoulders. 

 

The skeleton was steering you down the path toward a bridge and a clearing in the woods. 

 

Talking about introducing you to his brother, Papyrus. (Who names these monsters?) 

 

The “human-hunting fanatic”.

 

Not ready to see what that title might entail, you dove behind some kind of wooden booth at Sans' command. You noticed it was accented by a small lamp, which was planted right in the snow for some reason. Expecting some kind of threatening warrior, you were confused when another, much taller skeleton dressed in some kind of superhero outfit stomped onto the scene instead. You could barely keep your laughter in check while Papyrus screeched at Sans in an utterly unintimidating voice for being lazy and Sans replied with drawling jokes that made the bigger skeleton even angrier.

 

It was the first of many highly enjoyable interactions between the three of you. Much to the taller skeleton's loud delight, you did your best to solve his beloved puzzles, tried his spaghetti, and agreed with conviction that crosswords are way harder than word searches. Papyrus' ebullience seemed to rub off on Sans, who, you noticed with fondness, lit up when his brother was around. 

 

“my brother is pretty cool, huh?” Sans ventured after you'd bested another round of Papyrus' japery, leaning against a pine with his feet crossed. He'd seemed to almost appear from thin air, a habit you would never quite get used to. Buoyant at his comforting presence, you trudged through the snow to join him under the tree. 

 

“Yeah, Papyrus is awesome. Good thing there's at least _one_ cool skeleton down here, I was starting to feel disappointed.” 

 

You tried to nudge Sans' shoulder playfully, but he easily dodged the mock attack and gave his best effort at looking offended. He only ended up giving you a good-natured smile instead; the first one that felt really _real_ to you. It made his strangely malleable cheekbones drift upward noticeably and the lights in his eyes brighten. You couldn't help but feel like you were witnessing something special. He smiled, and then the spell was cast, as the old song goes. You should have known you were hooked right then.

 

And it showed, too.

 

You remember with great affection the welcome party Papyrus threw for you at Grillby's shortly after your arrival in the picturesque village of Snowdin. 

 

“DON'T BE SO MODEST. IT WOULD BE A CRIME _NOT_ TO CELEBRATE THE FIRST HUMAN TO SOLVE ALL OF THE GREAT PAPYRUS' PUZZLES AND EVADE CAPTURE!” he'd insisted when you desperately expressed your desire to keep your presence as low-profile as possible, fearing repercussions from that Asgore person. You couldn't imagine that too many (if any) other humans had even laid eyes on those silly puzzles, much less faced Papyrus in “battle” and evaded capture, but you'd never say that to him.

 

Besides, the much taller skeleton had gathered you up in a crushing hug when you finally relented, and that made it all worth it. You couldn't remember the last time you were hugged, and with that much fervor. You had to turn away the moment he set you back down so he wouldn't see you fighting tears.

 

It seemed that most of the town was there that night, as there was barely any standing room in the small bar. Even though Toriel's heartfelt plea about the king rang in your ears, you didn't see anything wrong with enjoying the company of potential new friends for a little while. If Asgore came to kill you, at least you'd be full and warm and _happy_. 

 

You had your hands full being greeted by the locals, who came in an enchanting rainbow of colors and shapes and sizes (and who seemed blissfully unaware of your non-monster status). Papyrus' brother was conspicuously absent, however, and you were more disappointed about that than you'd have liked to admit.

 

When he finally did show up, an hour late, Sans said one word to you (“'sup”) and went to make the rounds. He slid casually from conversation to conversation, terrible joke to terrible joke, leaving every monster he talked to in stitches. You know this because you were watching him intently from the moment he shuffled in. Sans then left as quickly as he came. 

 

You were startled out of your disappointment by Papyrus loudly expressing relief that you'd been spared his brother's terrible jokes, but your mind was occupied with wondering what it took to catch this guy's eyesocket. 

 

And being very concerned that you were having these kinds of thoughts about animate skeletons.


	3. Simply Because You're Near Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something keeps you from SAVEing and your battle with Asgore doesn't go too well. But hey, at least Sans is being vaguely flirtatious.

When you finally gathered the mental strength to move on from that charming little town a couple of months later (due directly to an incident involving Sans and [your dying MP3 player](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7680784/chapters/17532964)), you noticed that the hoodied skeleton always seemed to be hanging around from that point onward. 

 

He was nonchalantly present in each new location you discovered in the vast Underground, somehow getting there before you every time. You were always indescribably relieved when you turned an unfamiliar corner and saw that giant grin. Sans' mellow presence made you feel comfortable and safe, even if he was only selling you hot dogs (and cats??) from one of his many sentry stations or pranking you with an inky telescope. You just knew nothing would hurt you while you were near him.

 

When you broke down behind the titular Waterfall, bag strap having broken and the bag itself (and thus, all your things) lost somewhere, injured and on the verge of giving up, Sans was there with healing monster candy and a bad joke (“ _water you fallin'_ for, kid?”). You probably shouldn't have read into it that he was concerned for your well-being, but oh well, too late. You were relieved to find that none of the other monsters tried to bother you again after that; that is, until Undyne chased you into Hotland, spears flying. Even then, he served as a vital distraction so you could escape into Alphys' lab.

 

When you rested in the shadow of the CORE, too scared to press on in the face of its intimidating size and design, he offered his own brand of motivation:

"don't fall in. you'll end up like the guy that made it."

You screamed at the sudden intrusion and he just laughed. 

"I don't know how to feel about having a skeleton stalker," you breathed, trying to sound casual.

"psh, you wish," he snorted, then came to stand next to where you were sitting, your legs dangling over the edge of the steep cliff path. In spite of the sharp drop and the lava churning dangerously far below, he stood with half his slippers hanging off the brink recklessly, like he wasn't scared of falling. You didn't know how to read the nuances of his expressions very well yet, but with his closed eyes and deep breathing he seemed...pensive? Or was it reverent?

Then, he spoke, voice strong and confident, snapping you out of your admiration. "hey. you. kid. you're almost there. just stay determined, yeah? that's what you humans are known for, after all."

When you turned to offer some witty reply, he wasn't there anymore. You wondered if this guy was the actual fucking Batman and couldn't help but feel your dependence on him growing to stratospheric proportions.

 

When he told you that someone really cared about you in that candlelit restaurant, you ardently hoped he was referring to himself.

 

The last time you saw Sans before the surface, you were just about to fulfill your duty to Toriel (at least, that's what you planned to do) and were making your way to Asgore's throne room, desperate to make him see reason. You were surprised at how prepared you were to fight tooth and nail for that very purpose. You'd offer up your own Soul if necessary, though you hoped it wouldn't come to that. These people, who had come to mean so much to you in the short time you'd known them...you would do everything in your power to help them escape the bastille of Mount Ebbot.

 

You had just been through a number of tough battles in the decrepit corridors of the CORE and were exhausted, not to mention pretty badly hurt. You hadn't seen Sans since Hotland, and those bad thoughts about being able to destroy those weak creatures if you'd really wanted to had begun to creep in again.

 

As you entered the stunningly beautiful tiled hall, you were comforted by the now-familiar sight of a floating golden star in a corner of the massive room. Breathing a sigh of relief, you reached for it, anticipating the pleasant tingle of healing magic to flood your senses.

 

But nothing happened.

 

Thinking you missed it somehow, you carefully stuck your hand into the shimmering shape again. It phased through and returned limply to your side. Your breath caught in your throat. You couldn't SAVE? What the hell was happening? 

 

Your heart caught on to the panic in your brain, picking up speed as you stood there paralyzed. If you couldn't SAVE, you couldn't LOAD, and if you couldn't LOAD, that probably meant...you could die here. Really _die_.

 

To your left, something moved from behind an immense pillar and your battered body tried but failed to jump back. But it was just Sans, hands forever stuffed in his pockets.

 

You gasped, doubling over and clutching your chest. “ _Jesus_ , Sans, my heart is already going through enough today,” you breathed. Straightening to look at him, your blood was still rocketing through your veins but slowing slightly. You couldn't help but smile at the face you'd become so accustomed to. “You think you're really cool and enigmatic with that trick, don't you?” 

 

He smirked. “the coolest.”

 

Sans came closer, his permanent grin the most serious you'd ever seen it. He thanked you for all you'd done, all you were about to do. And if he'd been watching you long enough to notice your ordeal with the SAVE point, he didn't let on. 

 

As you were leaving, with a renewed fire in your belly, Sans called out to you. 

 

“hey, if-... _when_ we get to the surface...,” he trailed off, scratching his skull pensively. “...look me up, huh?”

 

It was all the incentive you needed to push into the blanket of darkness that separated the corridor from the king's chambers. If Sans wanted to stand with you on the surface, then goddammit, you were going to make it happen.

 

Making it happen meant dying, apparently.

 

What exactly took place after you stepped through the colossal arch into the throne room is a blur, but you didn't free the monsters, you know that much.

 

You hadn't even gotten a chance to speak before Asgore cut you down. The inspired words you'd prepared died in your throat as it struggled to draw in the perfumed air. 

 

In an instant, Asgore had drawn out your Soul, glowing brilliantly in royal blue, and as it floated further away the world grew colder and darker and drowsier. Before your body folded, you saw the king's tortured face streaming with tears, and even then, at your most terrified, couldn't bring yourself to hate him for what he'd done. 

 

Hell, you still can't. You even _work_ for the guy.

 

You were too busy not existing to wonder why you didn't wake up at your last SAVE point as usual or realize that your assumption was correct – your powers, inexplicably gained, had been lost just as mysteriously.

 

All you know for sure is that Frisk stood before the throne a few months later and succeeded for monsterkind where you'd failed them. It's no wonder that the monsters laud them as a savior – they had to have been impossibly convincing to have talked down an 8-foot-tall, trident-wielding king hell-bent on saving his people. And/or incredible at dodging said trident. 

 

Either way, it's clear Frisk had something you didn't. You apparently aren't the beacon of purity and strength that they proved themselves to be. It probably didn't help that a huge portion of your drive to push through the Underground was the selfish desire to see Sans again. Frisk was a little more noble than that.

 

But all that matters is that Frisk somehow came through when both worlds depended on them most, and you will never forget the second chance at life they gave you and your monster friends. Even if they _are_ a little twerp sometimes. 

 

Besides, because of them, the first thing you saw when you woke up on the surface was Sans smiling gently down at you, the telltale colors of sunset painting his features beautifully, and in your opinion that was the best fresh start possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's probably it for now. 
> 
> Hope it was a good read!

**Author's Note:**

> Take a gander at the [main fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7680784/chapters/17495656) this work is meant to supplement, if you think you can stomach it.
> 
> I love hearing what you think!


End file.
